Personification
by Pebbled Paradise
Summary: Fi berates herself, envies Clu and recalls scenarios from over ten years ago. You know it, I've had it up here for quite some time. It's a Paysheri classic. Contains a few coarse words.
1. Musings

Disclaimer: So Weird and everything in it belongs to Disney. Ms. Sultone is my creation. Well, actually, she's a gym teacher. PLEASE, TAKE HER AWAY!!!  
  
A/n: If this seems confusing, good. Ha.  
  
"Ah crap, not another bleeder.. "  
  
Ms. Sultone, a ruthless monarch in the midst of her reign -- okay, a _gym teacher_, grudgingly surveyed my elbow. She sterilized a wad of cotton, which she may as well have spit on, and pressed it down. Somehow, I didn't feel very wanted.  
  
"How did it happen?" she initiated. It was the most sympathy I could sift out of her, so I took it.  
  
"My locker. I was taking out my gym shorts, and it whacked me out of nowhere. Straaange creatures, they are.. " I smiled wryly.  
  
"Ugh."  
  
My smile dripped off painfully, inferring that Ms. Sultone was less than amused with my shameful injury-prone tendencies. My gaze flickered away, clouding my consciousness. I didn't realize that Ms. Sultone was holding out a can of Band-Aids for me. I took two and ran away.  
  
After a series of pathetic highschool volleyball serves, I drifted off again. In retrospect, I hate it. It makes me more like Annie. If I'm like Annie, I can't be like Clu, which means that I won't amount to anything. Ever.  
  
It's a big, messy, changing, exasperating cesspool of pubescence and a never-ending cycle of failing mentalities. I know I'm smart. If I wasn't smart, I wouldn't intrigue so many fan fiction writers to analyze me. The thing is, I want to be a certain type of smart. I'm not aiming for a "bookish" smart. That would be Jack's goal. I want to be facetious (not mean, though -- I won't judge people, and I won't be mean), witty, and attract lots of friends. Just like Clu.  
  
Sure, I think all the time. I'm not sure what I think, though. What are ethics? What's existentialism? What is the nature of the human being? What do I do?  
  
Clu would be able to answer all of my questions. He would explain everything in an indifferent, rational way. I'd know that he was into it, though. I know he thinks more than anyone. I just wish that I could be as intense.  
  
**So many people take him for granted**. They think he's stupid. They think he has opinions just for the sake of having opinions. They know he's nice to them, but they think it's all a "look."  
  
Ghetto.  
  
Punk.  
  
Nice.  
  
Puke.  
  
I'm intense -- but how do I know that I'm not fooling myself? How do I know that all of these cynical, discerning perceptions I have aren't just for my own amusement? **What if I'm Annie?**  
  
Clu thinks for a reason. He has opinions and ethics, and he sticks to them. Yet he never sounds like he's showing off -- he never lets many people know how much he thinks. He is cloaked by feigning audacity and rebelliousness, so that people take to him. That's not like me. I have to be such a _loudmouth_ all the time.  
  
But I can't believe he listened.  
  
I can't believe he didn't judge me.  
  
Well, then again, he probably did -- everyone else does. Even though he always squished over to let me sit down at picnics. Even though we to talk about monsters and ESP together. Even though we shared that one time, in the fifth grade, where we yelled "FUCK YOU" to the bad guys on the Power Rangers while watching it in class. We had to get "psychiatric care" for the rest of the year. It didn't help that they had records of some biting rampages in kindergarten.  
  
All of those "witty" (hmph) things I said..... He could have spoken so much wittier. He knows I was trying to live up to him (not a short joke, so shut up). Other people may try, also, but they don't matter. I know that I can be his friend, if I really try, and learn really fast, and stop smiling so much. And I should stop making cracks about Annie -- I don't think he likes that.  
  
I wish he looked up to me (SHUT UP, I SAY!!!) for **something**, but that's impossible.  
  
Lost in thought, grinding one hand against my flooding eyelids, and using the other to trace the shallow crevice thats' fire still seared my arm.  
  
I'm paranoid. I'm WAY too self conscious.  
  
No, no -- don't be a fool, Fi. He doesn't consider you a friend, and you're missing a world of enlightenment. Too bad. You should have learned.  
  
Stupid smiles.  
  
((I know, that was weird.. R/R anyway. I'm confused, myself -- consider it an abstract work. If you don't understand it, rate it for that. Infer what it means. But if you DO know what it means, bless you!!! But if this sounds just a little TOO close to home...  
  
Purple.))  
  



	2. Never Ate Any Paper

Disclaimer: So Weird and everything in it does not belong to me. Blah blah blah, typical, typical.  
  
A/n: This is another weird chapter.. But I enjoyed writing it. Maybe you can relate to it. Do you eat paper?  
  
  
After naptime, Mrs. Jefferson's nursery school class dawdled across the room, poking at the children still sprawled on their sleeping mats. This unscheduled period of nothing occured daily, with the unsaid consent of their teacher. Four-year-old Fiona Phillips seated herself in a rocking chair in the "Library Corner" and took up a copy of My Very Very Pink Dress and leafed through it, sounding out as many words as she could.  
  
"My dress is pink. It is very pink. One day, I went to the... STOO-ur-ee?"  
  
She mused over the challenging word for a while, scratching her head, and then her chin. It was rare that she faltered like this. She was a pretty good reader. Slightly ashamed, she squinted at the book, pretending that her hesitation was the result of a failure to see the letters clearly. A boy walked over to her and scoffed.  
  
"Stop squeezing your eyes," he giggled. "It makes you look funny."  
  
Fiona glanced up. Her eyes flashed, having taken offense.  
  
"SO? How do you look when _you_ sqeeze your eyes?"  
  
"Like this." He squinted exaggeratedly.  
  
Fiona's head lurched to the right, and then to the left. She scratched her head again.  
  
"When you squeeze your eyes, they look small," the boy explained. "My eyes are big. Do you want to see me make my eyes big? 'Cause I can, and it looks odd. It also looks scary. But at least they're not small. Wanna see me make my eyes big? I can teach you how. Do you like paper? I chew paper sometimes. Do you eat paper? I-- "  
  
All of a sudden, the boy's face flushed. He cringed, looking behind him, where Mrs. Jefferson stood, looking right back. He sucked in his lower lip and blinked candidly. The teacher looked away.  
  
"I have to go.. I have to talk to my friends. Pretend that I never said 'paper.' I hate paper: paper is yucky. I never ate any paper. Don't squeeze your eyes."  
  
He galloped away, too full of youthful inexperience to consider a goodbye. He probably figured that talking as long as he did insured the respect of his schoolmate. Of course, Fiona didn't judge him. She was also too young for that.  
  
She returned to her reading, simultaneously making an effort to stretch her eyes as wide as she could. She cautiously turned the pages, dreading a paper cut.  
  
"We went to the.. The... The.... S-T-O-R-E. We bo.. We boo-- We buyed some candy because we were...  
  
_Famished_."  
  
  
  
((R/R!! I know it's weird, but ever since I read Nine Stories by JD Salinger, I got REALLY into abstract contemporary fiction. R/R!!!!!!!)) 


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